


Don't Leave Me

by phanmindpalace



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Flashback, Fluff, M/M, Manchester, PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Reference to Rape, University, mental health, uni - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 05:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanmindpalace/pseuds/phanmindpalace
Summary: Dan suffers from PTSD. He has a flashback whilst at Phil’s apartment and Phil finds him on the bathroom floor shaking and sobbing. Comfort and fluff ensues.





	Don't Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> : I am writing this fic based on my own experiences with PTSD. PTSD is different for everyone and can be expressed in different ways.  
> In case you aren’t familiar with what a flashback entails, this is a definition given by RAINN:   
> “A flashback is when memories of a past trauma feel as if they are taking place in the current moment. That means it’s possible to feel like the experience of sexual violence is happening all over again. During a flashback it can be difficult to connect with reality. It may even feel like the perpetrator is physically present."   
> A flashback can be relating to any trauma, not just that of sexual violence.   
> If you require any help with this topic, you can message me and I’ll be more than happy to help you find a helpline for your country or direct you to information. (My tumblr is the same name).

It was 2am. Dan had just arrived at his friend, Phil’s house after trailing through Manchester in the dark with a bag of laundry and an ever-growing feeling of dread rising through his body from his toes to the tip of his wavy hair. He wasn’t entirely sure what had triggered him to slip his shoes on and head for Phil’s, but he figured that if he shoved his dirty clothes into a bag and brought them along too, then he had an excuse regardless of how weak an excuse it was. Manchester was quite intimidating so early in the morning given how empty and isolating it was, so Dan walked quickly and with purpose in the direction of Phil’s apartment block. It was only a 40 minute walk, but it felt like much, much longer. He daren’t even put his earphones in his ears for the fear of someone creeping up on him. His chest felt tight, and his throat constricted as he tried to take in deep breaths, but he tried hard to push away his anxiety, telling himself it was just because of how unfit he was. He was fine. He just wanted to do laundry.   
By the time he arrived, the adrenaline was racing through his veins as he tried to reason with himself for the fourth time that day that he wasn’t actually having a heart attack. He hated the dark, and he had known before he left that getting a taxi was probably the more sensible option, but what student has enough money to spare for a taxi across Manchester on a Friday evening/Saturday morning? Not Dan.   
As he rang the buzzer for Phil’s flat, he suddenly realised that he hadn’t actually warned Phil he was about to turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. After several minutes and no sign of Phil, Dan’s anxiety began to sky-rocket. He was going to be stuck out here, in Manchester City Centre all alone, and cold, and he was certain there was a giant rain cloud looming above him. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt tears gathering in his eyes. He blinked and tried to pull himself together. He was 18 for God’s sake, and he was acting like a child.  
Suddenly, the intercom let out a long beep and Dan heard Phil’s tired voice. He could listen to that voice all day; the sound of kindness, reason, and love. "Hello?"   
Dan blinked rapidly to hold back his tears and cleared his throat. "Phil, it’s me, Dan."   
"Dan?” Phil repeated, concern evident in his voice. “Umm, okay. I’ll let you up. Hang on." Phil went silent as he tried to decipher the buttons on his intercom panel. Finally selecting the button to open the door, he clicked off, leaving Dan standing waiting, with small drops of rain beginning to fall onto him.   
The door began to open and the intercom fell silent. Dan began to drag his laundry bag up the 6 flights of stairs, reluctant to use the lift at this time of night. He trudged along the hall to Phil’s door, careful to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible for the sake of the neighbours who were all no doubt sleeping by now. Dan crept along until he reached the right number, where he was greeted by a bleary eyed Phil, dressed in cookie monster pyjama bottoms and a red hoodie. "Are you moving in?” Phil asked. His tone was serious, brow furrowed with worry.   
“No, you spork. I came to do laundry,” Dan replied quietly, walking past Phil and into the apartment. He dumped his bag next to the washing machine in the kitchen and began to kick off his shoes. He’d grown accustomed to treating Phil’s apartment as a second home, because it practically was. Phil told him that he needn’t knock, and had even given him the spare key. Too bad he couldn’t give him a spare fob for the main entrance so that he didn’t have to stand in the rain at 2am waiting for Phil to work out how to use the control panel.

“At 2am?" Phil followed Dan through to the lounge and motioned for him to pass his coat which he then went to hang up in the cupboard.  
Busted. "Yeah. Laundry."   
"Dan…” Phil raised his eyebrows and looked into the boy’s eyes, searching for the truth. He was met by slightly wet, brown eyes staring back at him, dark rings encircled beneath them. “You having a bad night?"   
"Maybe…” Dan muttered, defeated. If he couldn’t be truthful with Phil, then who could he be truthful with?   
Phil nodded and went to switch the kettle on. "Tea?"   
"That’s so fucking British, Phil,” Dan smirked. “Yeah, go on then.” He went to sit down on the sofa, watching Phil as he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head there. He sniffed, and Phil turned around to check that Dan wasn’t crying.    
“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil yawned. “Sorry, I’m not bored, I’m just tired.” The kettle came to a boil and Phil set out two mugs on the countertop.   
“Not really,” answered Dan with a shrug. “I kind of just want to forget about it for now.” Truth was, Dan wasn’t quite sure what exactly had brought him here in the first place, and until he had mulled it over in a safe space with Phil by his side, he had no idea what it was he was even meant to be talking about.  
“That’s okay.” The wind howled outside and Dan was thankful he’d set off when he had. The weather was worsening, just like Dan’s emotional state. He smirked to himself at the pathetic fallacy and accepted a mug from Phil with a topless anime character on the front. “I only give Haru to people I really like,” Phil smiled, “You’re lucky.” He sat himself down next to Dan, wondering what he could do to help. He settled for switching on the TV to try and help Dan distract his thoughts from whatever was going on in his mind. Tomorrow, they’d probably have a good chat about it, but for now, Phil knew that wasn’t what Dan needed. He was also fully aware that Dan may not actually know himself what was bothering him, and that was okay too. Feeling low didn’t have to have a reason. The TV switched on to BBC1, and began to run through the news. A suspected terrorist had been identified in London, an outbreak of Norovirus was threatening to close an A&E department in Bristol, and a man had been sexually assaulted in Manchester; a third in a string of attacks. Phil flicked through the TV guide looking for something to watch, but the news played in a small box in the corner until he selected E4 which was showing reruns of the Big Bang Theory.    
Dan flinched beside Phil, who didn’t seem to notice. It crept up slow, burning in the pit of his stomach as the nausea began to rise, threatening to make him puke all over Phil’s cream rug. His mind slowly began swirling with a thick, black fog and he was filled with that all too familiar sinking feeling. Dan suddenly found himself having to exert extra effort in a bid to keep his vision focused; his mind was pulling him deep into the depths of his worst memories. He knew what was likely about to happen, and he had to protect himself.   
“Uhh, I’m just going to the toilet,” Dan muttered, quickly getting up off the sofa and rushing down the hall with urgency. No, not now. Please, not now. Dan’s face began to burn up, and his cheeks flushed a bright red. Thankfully, Phil didn’t turn away from the TV as he mumbled his acknowledgement, sipping his tea slowly. As Dan walked into the bathroom, he was forced to steady himself against the radiator in order to stay upright. He tried to breathe just like his counsellor had taught him; in for 7, out for 11. He even opened Tumblr and searched for the GIF of the pentagon that helped you to breathe during a panic attack. He loved that GIF, and sometimes even found comfort in the slowly expanding pattern that moved rhythmically before him, counting his breaths when all he could focus on was filling his lungs with air. He tried grounding techniques; he counted the spots on the bathmat, and he counted how many shades of blue he could see in the room. Slowly, slowly, his focus faded. He lost grip of the radiator as he hit himself on the side of his head in frustration. Sliding down the wall, Dan curled tight into a ball and brought his knees to his chin. Why am I like this? His plan was to just sit tight and ride out the flashback as quietly and subtly as possible. The trouble was, Dan was an expert in judging the severity of his flashbacks by now; he knew this was going to be one of the worst ones, and he couldn’t guarantee what he’d be like during it or who long it would last. For a long time, his counsellor had told him you can control this, Dan. You have the power to take back control of your thoughts. And Dan had tried, he really had, but it was just so disheartening each time to fight and fight against his memories, all the while being consumed by fear and despair until he was shaking uncontrollably on the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed as tight as he could, willing away the images that were flashing through his brain. He felt a soft, breathy whisper against his ear. Keep still. Dan let out a moan as it all came thundering back in full force. You’re not going to try to run are you? No, Dan thought. He was firmly fixed to the spot, his legs like jelly. He couldn’t run even if he tried. Rough hands were pressing against him, tearing at his clothes as he sobbed. He held himself tightly, and cried out in terror. “GET OFF ME! STOP!” Angry eyes flashed him, and all he could smell was the bitter scent of whisky. And strawberries. Strawberries?    
A soft handed rested on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Dan. Dan. Dan!” This voice was different from before, and not as forcibly in his personal space. It was a softer voice. Huh? This isn’t right. This isn’t how it goes. Dan was sharply tugged back to the present, and his every atom was suddenly filled with embarrassment as he stared up at the black haired man standing before him. “Where are you?” Dan croaked out in a whisper. He could see Phil, but he couldn’t comprehend how the man was standing before him as he was hurled through this memory. Phil wasn’t meant to be here.  
Phil didn’t quite understand what Dan was asking, but from what he had just witnessed, Dan wasn’t entirely in the same room as Phil. “Can I come closer again?” Phil spoke softly. “I think I frightened you a minute ago.” When Dan didn’t reply, Phil slowly edged toward him. “It’s just me, it’s Phil,” he murmured, watching Dan carefully for any sign of discomfort. When Dan didn’t flinch this time, and didn’t continue to scream, Phil slowly lowered himself onto the ground beside him until he was sitting flush against him, their backs to the wall. Dan was watching Phil intently, his eyes still somewhat glazed over, but more focused than they had been moments earlier.  
“Dan?” Phil whispered. “It’s just me, Phil. I’m here.” Dan remained silent, but slowly lowered his head onto Phil’s chest, and he was quickly engulfed in warmth, and the very certain scent of strawberries. This was Phil. Phil was a safe person. He began to run through a list of things he knew about Phil; another grounding technique. Phil has black hair. Phil is 6ft 2. Phil hates cheese. Phil’s birthday is January 30th. Phil wouldn’t hurt me. He began to let out small, shaky sobs, which soon turned into loud, ugly wails. Just as he thought it was all over, the panic and terror returned all at once, and Dan promptly threw up all over Phil’s bathroom floor, narrowly missing Phil by inches. This only caused him to cry harder. If Phil was repulsed, or at all bothered by the smell, he didn’t give anything away. He gently directed Dan to the toilet where he continued to throw up until he was just retching, and his throat felt like it was on fire. Phil sat behind him rubbing small circles into his shoulder blades, whispering reassurance. “I’m here,” he soothed, “Just here, right behind you. Get it all out.”  
Dan flopped onto the cold tile and Phil took this as a sign that Dan was done. He reached over him and flushed the toilet, pulling some toilet roll from the holder and wiping Dan’s mouth. “I’m about to take your shirt off, Dan. You just tell me if you want me to stop and I will, but it’s covered in sick.” Dan just sighed and continued to lie on the floor. He closed his eyes in exhaustion. Everything hurt; his chest, his throat, his head, his eyes, his heart. Though he remained fuzzy and distant, he was finally returning to the real world. Phil gently encouraged Dan’s arms out of the sleeves, and then pulled the t-shirt gently over his head, all whilst consoling Dan in hushed tones. He tossed the t-shirt into the corner and made a mental note to wash that as soon as he’d sorted Dan out. Standing up, and making his way to the door, Phil heard Dan whisper so quietly that he barely heard him. “Don’t leave me.”  
”I’m just going to my bedroom, just across the hall to grab you another shirt and I’ll be right back.” Dan groaned, but Phil was concerned about how much the boy was shaking with fear and cold, so he quickly walked over to his dresser where he chose a pacman t-shirt and brought it back to the bathroom. He took a flannel from the side of the bath and began to fill the sink with soapy water. “Here’s a wet cloth,” Phil explained, holding it out to his friend. “Just give yourself a quick wash if you can, just to get the sick off. I’ll turn around if you want.”  
Dan whimpered softly. “You.” He opened his eyes, still lying on the floor shaking.  
”Me? You want me to do it?” Phil asked. He was eager to have Dan’s explicit consent to engage in this intimate act, especially following what had just happened. The last thing he wanted was to scare Dan, or to make him feel uncomfortable.  
Dan’s head nodded ever so slightly, and Phil knelt down and gently encouraged Dan into a sitting position. He slowly wiped Dan’s torso, and then dipped the cloth into the sink, squeezing out the excess water and tossing it into the wash pile alongside Dan’s shirt. Tears continued to run down Dan’s face, and Phil felt a surge of sadness. His friend was suffering, and there was nothing he could do but be there. He had so many questions, none of which would help right now, so he pushed his thoughts away from everything he wanted to do to the bastard who’d damaged Dan, and focussed himself on just simply being there. Towelling Dan off felt strange; not because of the intimacy, but because Phil had never done this to anyone before and it just felt unnatural. Once he was convinced Dan was dry, he tugged the pacman shirt over Dan’s head. “There you go. Do you want pyjama bottoms or do you want to sleep in your boxers?”   
”Pyjamas,” Dan whispered. He wasn’t sure he could handle wearing so little clothing right now, even though he trusted Phil with his life. He wanted to cover as much of his skin as possible; create a barrier between him and the world. Every touch lingered on Dan’s skin, and though Phil had stopped wiping him down, Dan could still feel the memory of it against him as though it were still happening. That’s how he knew he was beginning to come back to reality; he could reason with himself that Phil’s touch was gentle and kind. He wanted Phil’s touch. “Okay. I’m just going to have to go and get some, but I’ll be straight back.”   
Phil returned moments later holding some Star Wars bottoms to find that Dan had already shuffled out of his trousers…an improvement, thought Phil. At least Dan was managing to co-ordinate his limbs slightly better than he had minutes earlier when he’d lashed out at Phil, apparently unaware of who was nearby. Dan’s eyes were watching Phil intently rather than being fixed absent-mindedly ahead, and Phil noted the progress, however small. Phil passed over the pyjama bottoms, and Dan slipped them on quietly. Though he seemed calmer than he previously had, he was still shaking hard.   
”Dan, I think it’s best we get you all comfy. You don’t have to go to sleep, and I’ll leave the light on. I’ll be right behind you, but I need to clean up,” Phil spoke softly, holding his hand out encouragingly. Dan grabbed it, and Phil pulled him up, slowly leading him into his bedroom. He flicked the bedside lamp on, and settled Dan under the covers, tucking them around him. “I’m just cleaning up. Nothing else. Then I’ll be right back and we can talk about it, or we can just lie here. It’s all your decision.” Dan nodded slowly and reached out for Phil’s hand, which Phil took immediately. Dan squeezed, and Phil leant down to stroke Dan’s fringe from his face. “Two minutes, okay?” Dan nodded again, and Phil left to grab his cleaning bucket from the kitchen. He hated sick. Usually, the very sound of someone being sick made Phil gag, but something about the urgency of the situation meant that he had successfully stayed by Dan’s side. He wondered if that was what being a parent was like; if that’s how his Mum coped when he and Martyn were sick - because you had to. The stench hit him as soon as he returned to the bathroom. Man up, he thought. He crouched down and began to clean his floor, spraying it with disinfectant that smelled like lemon and lime. He’d never seen Dan in this state before. Sure, Dan had come round to his apartment before, sometimes with an extremely anxious demeanour about him, and he’d even cried into Phil’s chest, but he’d never been like he had been tonight. Phil knew that it was some sort of intrusive memory, and he knew that Dan must have been through some sort of trauma that he hadn’t yet disclosed to him; the very thought almost making him throw up as well. His friend was suffering, and he felt an intense urge to help in any way he could, no matter what it took. Suddenly, he heard soft sobs coming from his bedroom. Dan was crying again. Phil sped up with his cleaning, and within a minute or two had finished; his floor looked cleaner than it had before Dan arrived. Quickly throwing some toilet cleaner down the toilet and setting his washing machine away on a hot wash, he rushed back to Dan’s side with a glass of water. “Hey, hey hey hey…I’m back. Dan, can you hear me?” Dan looked up in acknowledgement, his head rested on the pillows. He looked exhausted, and Phil knew he wouldn’t take long to fall asleep. He was prepared to sleep on the sofa if Dan needed space, but he thought he’d ask if he could join him in the bed anyway in case he needed the safety of having someone nearby.”Please,” Dan whispered. Phil lifted the covers and joined Dan under them, reaching out to find his hand. “Shhhh,” he soothed, “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”  
Dan’s cries lessened, and his breathing slowed until he was taking deep breaths. Phil knew he shouldn’t ask questions, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to know who. If Dan didn’t want to answer, that was fine, but Phil really needed to know if Dan was safe now or not.  
”Who was it, Dan?” Phil murmured, so quietly that for a moment, he didn’t think Dan had heard him. Dan’s eyes stayed closed tight.  
”Eric”  
Phil knew Eric. Phil knew that Dan still knew Eric. This was going to need to be dealt with, but it would have to wait. “From Reading? The one I met at the reunion we went to?” Eric was Dan’s ex-boyfriend, who’d been with Dan through some of high school. Phil knew the break up was messy, but that’s all Dan had told him.  
He felt Dan’s head move up and down beside him on the pillow.  
”Before I left for uni. Every time I saw him…he would…make me…” Dan’s tears began to flow again, and Phil pulled Dan closer, enveloping him in a warm hug. He held him close and whispered reassurances to him soothingly, running his fingers through his fringe. The sobs continued to rack through Dan’s body and Phil’s neck quickly became wet with tears. “Every damn time.”  
”We don’t have to talk about it now, but listen to me; I will hold you for as long as you need, and I will be right by your side wiping away your tears.” He hushed Dan, and continued to thumb his fingers through the boys fringe, until he quietened once more.  
”I’m sorry,” Dan muttered. “For turning up so late. And being sick. And pushing you away. And-”  
”Dan. Stop.” Phil interrupted him urgently. “You have nothing - nothing to be sorry about. I am here for you always. You aren’t alone. Dan, I love you with all my heart and I will do anything for you.”  
His love for Dan, regardless of whether platonic or romantic, soared through him, and he needed Dan to know he wasn’t on his own anymore; that he would never be on his own ever again.  
The two of them lay there in silence for a long time, before Dan’s breathing began to slow, and he let out a little snore, relaxing into Phil’s embrace. Phil only hugged him tighter, quietly vowing to never ever let anyone hurt Dan again. He would protect him, hold him tightly, and most importantly, he would never ever leave him.


End file.
